


Magic

by justbecauseyoubelievesomething



Series: Writer's Month 2020 Prompts [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke radio calls, Canon Compliant, Clarke attempts magic, Drabble, F/M, Magic, Pining, Post-Season/Series 04, Stargazing, mood piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:41:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25699708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justbecauseyoubelievesomething/pseuds/justbecauseyoubelievesomething
Summary: A Bellarke drabble for Writer's Month 2020. Prompt 3: magic.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Series: Writer's Month 2020 Prompts [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1863823
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14
Collections: Writer's Month 2020





	Magic

She waits until the fire burns almost to ash, dark embers smoldering underneath the crusty black logs like some sort of secret hidden in the shadows. Madi stirs slightly, one arm falling limply from her hip to rest curled next to her stomach, but she doesn’t wake up.

Tonight the stories were about Bellamy. Clarke paints his adventures across the night sky with her words, sweeping Madi along with stars in her eyes as she dances around the fire. Stories of a fierce and loyal warrior who protects his people like one of the mythical heroes come to life.

A log pops softly in the fire as Clarke sifts through her supply pouch, pulling out a thick, yellowed book, leathery cover cracked and faded with age. The pages stick out at uneven intervals along the edge of the book and as Clarke opens the cover, several papers slide loose into her waiting hand.

She found the book under a mantle in the village. A book of spells.

Her scientific mind has kept her alive since she landed. Rational thinking saves lives.

Rational thinking hasn’t brought Bellamy back to her.

So she flips through the pages, the dry paper catching ever so slightly along the roughened skin of her fingertips. Spells to reunite two lovers. Spells to speak to the dead. Spells to help sailors navigate home.

She tries them all. Hunting the components takes time, as plants slowly reseed and regrow over the years. She collects her ingredients as meticulously as any medicinal herbs: rose petals set in the sun to dry, silver fish scales that gleam softly after her polishings, dozens of tiny vials of her own blood. She mutters practice incantations under her breath as she fishes in the mornings and washes clothes in the afternoon, until the pronunciations roll off her tongue smoothly. She studies the pages a dozen times over while Madi sleeps, holding them up to the light to search for hidden writing and symbols. Anything she’s missing.

Tonight, she slides the knob of her radio until she can just hear the soft edge of static. The sound of a vast ocean between her and Bellamy Blake.

A handful of rose petals crushes into fragrant dust in her palm. She patiently mixes it with just a hint of blood, the deep reds intermingling and the dusky scent filling her nose. She paints the red along a strip of willow bark, appreciative of the sunset color against the ghost-like grey canvas.

She mutters the spellwork, shaping the foreign words carefully and willing them to life. The strip of painted bark she lays atop the embers and waits as it slowly burns.

The static remains steady, a droning reminder of her failure. Smoke rises from her burnt offering, slowly twisting and turning as it becomes irreversibly mingled with the rest of the smoke rising up to the stars. The last bit of burning bark dribbles like glowing gems into the ashes and fades into a muted glow.

The end.

Clarke packs the book away, carefully, almost reverently. Even though it hasn’t worked, she feels some sort of calm fall over her whenever she skims the pages. The feeling of sharing touched pages with spell casters long past, running her finger under faded words that others inked.

She leans back on her elbows in the damp grass, eyes half-closed as the warm breeze twists the ends of her hair. The static plays softly in her ears, a barrier and a lifeline.

The stars seem to wink at her, laughing gently at her attempts. She can trace the constellations Bellamy taught her, years ago now. A reminder that some things stay the same.

She wonders what he would think of her. Of her spells and secret offerings. She closes her eyes and in the sea of static she can see him; eyes wide and laughing, but warm. She holds onto that image as the bits of static become stars and she floats to him on a thread of magic. Two lovers, reunited.

  
  
  



End file.
